


The Wolf You Feed

by meepinstein



Category: The Wolf Among Us, Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 10:45:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3206342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meepinstein/pseuds/meepinstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old Cherokee is teaching his grandson about life. “A fight is going on inside me,” he said to the boy.</p><p>“It is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One is evil...the other is good...The same fight is going on inside you – and inside every other person, too.”</p><p>The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf will win?”</p><p>The old Cherokee simply replied, “The one you feed.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings. This work is also hosted over at FF.net. It is primarily a TWAU fic with VtMB elements, so that explains all the background. Pairings unknown, possibly reader-decided. Feedback is appreciated.
> 
> I own nothing you recognize.

The rain pelts furiously against the roof of the building, so shockingly thunderous that I can hear it whipping about even on the fourth floor. I can't help but feel nervous - this was a job interview and I was utterly unprepared, dressed in the only clothes I owned and without anything resembling a resumé. I'm hoping to get hired as a formal assistant to a man named Wolf, but I have a feeling I don't remotely have a chance. I've hardly lived here that long and the woman that had showed me in had informed me that he was rather reluctant toward the idea.

I shift my weight and the chair I'm seated in protests loudly. The office is in somewhat of shambles - an overflowing ashtray, a seldom used coffee pot, papers scattered over the desk. The wastebin is overflowing with empty soft packs of Huff 'n' Puffs. What I would do to have one and calm my nerves.

The door swings open and lightly smacks the wall and I jolt upward in my seat. A worn, grizzled man drops himself into the office chair opposite me and regards me with a look of mild displeasure. For a fraction of a second he seems intrigued, but then he goes back to his resting bitch face syndrome.

"So," he begins, hitting another soft pack on the back of his wrist and lighting up a smoke. I swallow, aware of the click of my throat, and wait for him to continue. "You're Jacoby, then? Is that your first name or your last?"

"I'd prefer it to be my only name, sir," I venture, twisting my hands in my lap. His blank stare prompts me to revise my answer. "I'm Jacoby Corpore, sir."

Wolf slides the pack and a Zippo across the desk and I partake gratefully. As I light up, he scratches the stubble on his chin. He's no doubt wondering how a ragamuffin like me found their way into his office for an interview and not help. "So, why do you want to be my assistant?"

Straight to the point, I see. "I need money," I reply bluntly with a shrug. Like he's going to be very formal in this process.

"Valid. Do you have any experience in this sort of work?"

"I was an errandgirl in Santa Monica," I offer.

"Hmm? What did you do?"

"Anything, and everything. Investigation, mainly."

"Why did you quit?"

I fidget a bit. "Er - my former employer, he, uh, died." Exploded. Whatever.

"I'm sorry. Is there anyone else I can contact as reference?"

"Well, there's a few. I'd have to get their contact info though." Totally professional.

Wolf leans across the desk and drops his voice. "You're not a Fable. You're not a human, either." I blink at him, wide-eyed. "Why are you here?"

I think about it for a few moments. His scent is peculiar and I can't place it. "Well, you're not Kindred. You're not Kine, either. You've found a niche, and a haven. I'm simply trying to do the same. Discretion is not a problem on my part, sir."

He leans back and nods slowly. "I understand. I won't ask what you are, so long as you don't cause any problems." He lights up another cigarette as I stub mine out. "I'm not thrilled with having to hire an assistant, but it will keep others off my back. We'll pass on the paperwork and I'll give you a trial period. When can you start?"

I feel giddy. "Whenever, really. I could even start right now, if you like."

Wolf knocks the cherry out of his cigarette and places it on the desk for later. Then he beckons to me. "Come on." We leave the office and he leads me down the hall, past a long line of people standing at some door that we pass through. The same woman that took me to his office is behind an impressive desk and she stands when we walk in.

"So, she's the one?" She asks, and regards me with something like relief.

"She's the only one that showed up, Snow, you know that," he replies, tucking his hands into his pockets. She glares at him, perhaps not wanting my self confidence ruined because I was picked by convenience rather than qualification. It really doesn't matter to me.

"Well, Miss - Jacoby, is it? - I'm Snow White, the standing mayor for the forseeable future." She holds out a carefully manicured hand and I shake it.

"Nice to meet you," I offer, inclining my head in greeting. She then proceeds as if I'm not in the room.

"When will she be starting?"

"Now," Wolf shrugs.

"Now? You're not going to train her or anything?"

"She doesn't need training."

White looks at me in my state of disarray, as if to say yeah, right. "Does she know?" She asks pointedly.

"She understands."

"But she doesn't know."

"I know as much as I need to. I'm not stupid," I interject, commandeering the conversation. White regards me for a few moments, trying to decide if she can trust me or not. "Do you want collateral?" I offer, rocking back on my heels as she studies me. She looks to Wolf, whose expression says that this conversation has gone on to long.

"She's neither here nor there. She's not a Fable, but she's not a Mundy. She came here to hide, same as any of us," Wolf states with an air of finality.

"Fine. But she's your responsibility, Bigby," White says firmly. Wolf rolls his eyes skyward and beckons me out with him. We return to his office and he gestures at the guest chair.

"Unfortunately, you came in the aftermath of excitement, so there's not particularly anything to do at the moment. Hopefully things will be quiet for a while." He picks up the unfinished cigarette and relights it. "Have you been around town?"

I shrug. "Not particularly."

"Then I'll show you around. Are you living here?" I shake my head and rattle off the name of a run down apartment that even a rat probably wouldn't look twice at. "Ouch."

"It doesn't matter to me. I'm not a creature of comfort."

"Good to know," he comments as he shuffles papers around on his desk. "Well, no use sitting around. Come on." Wolf stands and we walk outside to begin my tour.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings again. This is the next installment. I feel like some things are OOC and that it fell short compared to the prologue, but it will do.
> 
> I own nothing you recognize.

My first week passes uneventfully. It's mostly paperwork and mundane calls, a few minor scuffles and nothing else. I return to my run-down apartment as had become routine and head to shower without checking the answering machine. I stand under the hot water for the longest time, shaking off the cold and rain and thanking my lucky stars that we actually had water pressure. A knocking at the door destroys my relaxation. I quickly redon my garb and go to answer it.

I put the chain on the door and peek through the gap. Wolf is there, looking a little more upset than usual. Strange, I saw him not twenty minutes ago. I let him in and he glances around my studio. There's no couch, so I gesture toward the desk chair and sit myself on the bed.

“I'm sorry for the intrusion. I called, but I guess you hadn't come home yet.” He apologizes and takes a moment to explain himself. “Something's...happened.”

“What kind of something?” I press, raising my eyebrows as he lights up a smoke and ashes it into the tray on the desk.

“A murder.” He's blunt about admitting it, but he still doesn't sound sure. “It looks like a wild animal, but we're not sure.” My heart thunders around in my chest. His gaze flicks to me, as if he can detect the change in my scent. “It's probably nothing. I've checked for evidence already but I thought maybe you'd want to take a look.”

“But it's still a murder,” I chime. I imagine wild animals aren't exactly prevalent in the area, so I could see why it would raise red flags. If it was a Fable...or worse...they had to do something about it. “Do you know who it was? The victim, I mean.”

He shakes his head. “No. Some Mundy, I guess.”

I depart to slip on my shoes and grab my personal effects, then follow Wolf through the rain to where the body is being held. White is waiting for us when we arrive.

The corpse of a young woman is laid out on the table. The tang of blood hits my nose immediately. Jesus, how long has it been since I've had a drink? I shake off the urge and approach the body. There's a series of deep gouges across her torso, glittering dark. White misinterprets the face I'm making and touches my arm. I offer a brief smile and rake my gaze up and down the corpse. “It certainly loks like a wild animal,” I conclude. Wolf has been watching me, and now he walks around the table and points at the neck.

“The problem is this,” he emphasizes, and I make my way around to stand next to him. Two punctures stand out against the sallow skin. I inhale sharply and he looks at me curiously.

“That _is_ a problem,” I agree. I grimace and sigh heavily. “I guess a week is long enough. What happens in this room, stays in this room.”

The pair is obviously confused. “Sure,” White consents in spite of her befuddlement.

“You're dealing with a Childe of Caine, a Kindred, a..vampire.” Using the word sounds so silly. “The wounds – something like that would have bled. There's no evidence of that. They were drained try, and the lacerations are to try to cover it up.”

“So how big of a problem is a vampire?” Wolf asks the inevitable as White digests the information.

“Normally, not any. They uphold the Masquerade. I'll guarantee there's plenty of Kindred in this city. They're no stupid. This had to be a Sabbat fledgling.”

“Sabbat? Fledgling? Plain English here, Jacoby,” Wolf chides.

“You can't just Embrace – turn a human into a vampire. You have to seek permission from the higher ups. The Childe has to be educated before hand; when they're not, things like this happen. The Sabbat are...are a bunch of assholes. They like to make shock troops – most of the time they're just turned and bashed over the head and hell, a lot of them are lucky if they even know they're a vampire. And at any rate, if it's a not a Sabbat fledgling, when you drain an innocent dry, you lose Humanity, and when you lose Humanity, the Beast awakens and you have to suffer the consequences. _That's_ when it becomes a problem.” I finish my speech and light up a cigarette, waiting for the inevitable questioning.

“So, then, you're...?” White begins to ask, but Wolf interrupts her.

“I said I wouldn't ask what you were and I won't-”

“Yes, but I didn't,” White snaps, glaring at the man.

“I've already said too much ma'am, imagine telling a human about your situation. I'm sure you can understand.” From the interview and the following conversations, I'd gathered enough to know we were both in hiding. She falls silent and nods.

“Then what do we do about this?” she revises, and they both look at me expectantly.

“Well, normally, the Prince, the head vampire of the city, would handle it. Send their errandboy. But I assume Fabletown doesn't have a Prince. You could contact the Prince of New York, but I don't know who they are or where to find them. It might just be easier to find the fledgling ourselves.”

“We could ask the mirror,” Wolf suggests, looking to White for agreement.

“Do you think it would work?” she asks us both. Personally, I shrug.

“Maybe, but tracking down one individual would be work, and you don't know who's behind them, how many more you would have to eliminate. I think it would be best to have them put down as quick as possible. As for the Prince, they're generally elusive.”

“And just how do we put them down?” Wolf asks, crossing his arms across his chest.

“A shotgun blast to the head. Fire. Sunlight.”

“What about a stake?”

“Only bad news if it catches them in the heart, then it's only paralysis.”

“So you're not one of them? You walk around during the day,” White points out.

I purse my lips. “It's complicated. Everything would take too long to explain, and it's not exactly something you need to know. I'm not going to hand out a tutorial on how to kill me. Besides, I've already pretty thoroughly violated the Masquerade, please understand.” Neither of them seem content with my silence, but agree nonetheless.

“Well, that's it then. We'll ask the mirror in the morning,” White summarizes, clasping her hands together.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Greetings. My apologies for being late on my schedule, again. I attended Ohayocon, boyfie's panel was at midnight-thirty, and we didn't end up getting back until six in the morning Sunday because it's winter. It also threw off my battery schedule - the charging port on my phone doesn't work and that's where all of my first drafts are. So some things to be said before we get into the thick of things. Clans are vampire lineages, Disciplines are Powers, Protean is ish explained, and Awareness is a Talent that is an instinctual reaction to the supernatural. Again, I will add notes in the beginning if it is still unclear and also recommend that you peruse the White Wolf Wikia. Jacoby is still the only original character in this fic - all others mentioned are property of White Wolf. While we're on the subject, since TWAU is set in the 80s and VTMB is in 2004, I've decided to move the events of VTMB to the time of TWAU.
> 
> I own nothing you recognize.

I walk into the business office to find that both Wolf and White are waiting for me. They lead me to the mirror and I glance over it curiously. Even though I live in a fantasy world of my own, it seems unreal. I'd heard of Kindred having Disciplines that involve mirror manipulation, but not a mirror that was a being with consciousness. “Do you want me to find the Prince or the fledgling?” I ask, rocking back on my heels.

“I'm not sure it would show us the fledgling,” White replies. “If it was that easy, then some things wouldn't have gone on for as long as they did.”

“But will it show us this “Prince” without a name?” Wolf points out.

“It's worth a shot,” she shrugs. “You have to rhyme,” she informs me.

“Rhyme?” I repeat cynically. “Mirror, mirror, show me the...dork...the Kindred who's the Prince of New York?”

A face appears in a swirling field of green smoke and regards me for a few moments. “Good try,” it says, before rolling back and showing me naught but blackness.

“Shit,” I curse, bringing my hand up to my mouth. “Of course.”

“It can't find him?” White asks from somewhere behind me.

“No, he's been found, but the Prince's office is and Elysium – no magic, no combat. Besides, even if we did see him, who knows where the office could be. Can it find buildings?” White shakes her head and I turn back to the thing. It was worth a shot. “Mirror, mirror, he wears no collar, show me Beckett, the four-footed scholar.” It shoes the man in his lupine war form running through a forest located who knows where. “Real specific,” I scoff.

“Who's Beckett?” Wolf asks.

“A scholar, obviously. I thought maybe I could get a lead from him, but he'll only show up if something interesting happens, and I doubt some little bump in the road like this would intrigue him.” Unless I sold out the Fables, whatever they were.

“And why is he like that?” White asks, and I watch her gaze flick to Wolf.

“There's different clans. He's a Gangrel. They're...close to nature. That's his war form, an ability of the Discipline Protean. Gangrel can walk upright, they just choose not to. He's one of very few that aren't just mindless mutts wandering the countryside.”

“He's not a...werewolf?” White ventures as the mirror fades out.

I can't help but snort. “Fuck no. Werewolves are not something you want to be fucking with. Trust me. They're feral, chaotic things, at least where I come from. Lycanthrope, yes, werewolf, no.” I turn my gaze to them. “I've said enough. Unless we start making this a quid pro quo situation, my mouth is shut.”

The pair is silent a while. “Alright,” Wolf agrees. “As you can assume, she's Snow White, and I'm the Big Bad Wolf.”

White, although reluctant, leads me over to a large book open on a table. She gives me a brief rundown of Fables and Mundies, glamours and the Farm, confirming a few of my hypotheses. When all is said, I nod. “What are you?” she asks timidly.

I shrug. “Kindred,” I reply shortly, not keen on indulging even more information in this session.

“But what clan?”

“Snow,” Wolf says warningly. “If she doesn't want to say, don't make her. Like I said, it's like telling everything to a Mundy.”

“But, realistically, we don't know anything about her,” White protests. Like I'm not in the room, jeez.

“There's nothing for you to worry about. I've already told you enough to warrant my Final Death. Do you really think I'm so reckless and stupid that I'd do something to guarantee it?” I tuck my hands into my pockets and shrug my shoulders. “I'm the same as any of you.”

“I know, it's just...” White trails off, probably realizing the hypocrisy in the statement she'd intended to make. She's quiet for a few moments. “Alright,” she relents.

“What are we supposed to do then?” Wolf interjects, crossing his arms as we make it back around to the situation at hand. “Sit around until another one's picked off? What if they start killing Fables.”

“Realistically, all we need to do is find the Prince and he'll nip it in the bud. Maybe he already has,” I state to try to calm him down. “I'll try contacting some people back in L.A. and see if they can tell me who he is.”

“And what if it's not as easy as you say it is?” Jeez, Wolf, thought you trusted me.

“I'll figure something out,” I shrug with the attitude of a person left with no other options. Wolf is silent a bit, then eases up as if he seems to understand my predicament. His resting bitch face and White's expression still say that they're uneasy though.

“Very well,” White concludes, and Wolf and I walk back down the hall to the office. Once there, I ask permission to use the phone. I dial operator.

“Yes, hello, I need to be connected to the Asylum, Santa Monica, California. Alright.” I wait for the rings while Wolf studies me. “Hello?” I prompt, and I immediately recognize the voice that answers me.

_“Why hello, kitten, I'd thought you'd forgotten all about me. I've been so lonely since you left.”_

I feel my face heat up. The volume is loud enough for Wolf to hear. “Jeanette, can I speak to Therese?”

I can almost hear her pout. _“Oh, so all you want is business? You didn't miss me at all?”_

“I-I-”

_“Hmph. So you are like all the rest. Fuck 'em and leave 'em with nothing but a memory.”_ I anticipate her hanging up on me. _“You're lucky it's a good one, kitten, or else I wouldn't consider it. You should visit again sometime...”_ I hear the receiver clack against the table and sit there dumbfounded. I don't even want to peek at Wolf's expression.

_“Therese Voerman.”_ Good, right to the point.

“Yes, hello, I don't know if you remember me, I'm Jacoby.”

_“Yes, the rat who fucked my sister. What do you want?”_

Of course the virgin queen of the night would hate me for that. And rat? I'm a damn blueblood among Kindred. “Um. Are you by chance the new Prince? I know you were pining for the position and-”

_“No.”_

Oh.

“Well, could you put Jeanette back on the phone?”

_“Why? So you two can arrange another rendezvous?”_

“Goddamnit, Therese, this is important,” I argue, growling down the phone.

_“Important? My time is important, and I don't appreciate you wasting it.”_

“I'm not-” I try to protect, but she doesn't give me the opportunity and hangs up. I nearly slam the phone back in the cradle and run my hands through my hair. All at once it occurs to me that Wolf is still in the room, having witnessed me being chewed out for banging someone's sister. “It's...it's not what it sounds like,” I begin to explain.

“It's none of my business,” he shrugs.

“I'm not a lesbian,” I continue nonetheless.

“Then why'd you do it?” Because I'm a dirty opportunist.

“It was for a mission – for information. Besides, at the time, I was one of the very few that hadn't.”

“If you say so,” he replies, and I can tell he's not convince. Like I had a chance with White around anyway. Wolf changes the subject. “Do you have any other leads?”

“I can try to get back in contact with Jeanette. I had wanted to go through her to speak to someone else anyway. Either the man himself or his associate. At last resort, there's Beckett, but I don't know how. I mean, hypothetically, I could just find another Kindred and ask them, but I'm not sure how to find one – have you ever been in a big city? Everything smells.” My Awareness is high enough to sense to supernatural, but all these Fables are throwing it off.

“You're talking to the wrong person,” he chuckles and I consider it that I'm forgiven for my ineptitude. “As much as I hate to say it, but I guess we have to try again tomorrow,” Wolf sighs, and we both settle back into the paperwork routine.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I'm a week late, but here's the next update. I don't believe there are any terms to explain in this chapter, but hit me up if you find one.
> 
> I own nothing you recognize.

I awake from a sleep and shake the cricks out of my bones. I've adapted to nightsleep, but not so much to this cheap mattress. A glance at the clock informs me that I've got another hour before I'm due at work. I draw a bath to soothe my stiff body and sink down into the scalding water.

I can't help but mull over the recent event. I have a mind to just chalk it up as no big deal – it's just one victim after all. Back in Santa Monica things like this happened all the time. But actually saying that to Wolf and White? I can't imagine it would go over well. I guess I could lie and say that I _had_ gotten in contact with the Prince and that it would be taken care of. And if Fabletown really was being endangered by the Sabbat? It was land, and it's not like they'd honor established territory or hierarchy.

As my relaxing bath time had turned sour, I towel off and dress myself, then proceed to habitually apply my eye makeup. Next is to have the morning's first smoke. I light up and check my fridge. Two bloodpacks; no way that shit was going to last me the rest of my unlife. I'd have to remedy that situation, too. I sit myself at my desk and listen to the morning talk show on the radio.

Having finished, I begin my trek to the Woodlands. It's not raining today, but there's a pleasantly thick cloud cover. The walk is maybe ten minutes, and I arrive shortly before I'm due to show. Wolf is at his desk as usual. He simply grunts at me in greeting.

I start on my share of the paperwork. The pile is getting smaller. Wolf informs me that they've identified the victim as a mundy prostitute. It honestly doesn't surprise me, there were plenty trolling the streets in Santa Monica and they weren't the type to be missed. In return, I let him know the most likely place you'd come across a low-generation Kindred are places like clubs, brothels, and bars.

“Well, there was a club with working girls, but it's closed down for now,” he replies as he breathes his cigarette and scribbles on his papers.

“Bars?” I prod.

“There's one in the South Bronx not far from here, kind of a dive. The owner knows her regulars.”

“But business is business, right?” I point out, even though I know Kindred can't eat or drink a damn thing besides blood without vomiting. “There's no where else without going farther out into the big city?” He shakes his head. “Then I guess we'll go pop in in the evening?”

“Fine by me,” Wolf consents.

I continue writing for a few moments. “Sir...honestly, I've walked this earth over, and I don't think it's a big deal.”

He eyes me. “Not a big deal,” he repeats.

“It's pretty common. And some bigger, badder vampire will come along and squash them. I don't have a damn clue about the politics in this city – I've never had an interest. But I think...maybe we shouldn't blow it out of proportion?”

He full-on turns his chair to face me. “Look, I don't know how they did things where you come from, but usually, when someone dies in a city, it has to be investigated, and they have to be stopped before anyone else is killed.” It's probably not so much about people dying, but the possibility of a Fable being next, and not knowing what he's dealing with.

“It probably already has,” I counter with a shrug. “There's Kindred everywhere – the smart ones don't go around juggling dumpsters or outrunning the 8:15. I wouldn't be surprised if someone Masquerading in law enforcement already swept it under the rug and had him put down.”

It doesn't take much to figure out Wolf isn't convinced, and White wouldn't be either if I told her. In fact, he picks up the phone, calls her into the office, and relays my idea. She looks damn near livid.

“You want to wait?” she more or less demands.

“Yes,” I reply in my most civil manner.

“And how many more will die in the meantime?”

“None,” I answer with the most confidence I can gather. She's got the same what if a Fable's next panic as Wolf. I absently wonder the quality of a Fable's blood.

“I don't believe you,” she hisses, and I notice it's a cross between insulting my statement and myself.

“Miss White, you don't know what you're dealing with,” I reply with equal venom. “Let's say you're older than me. How did you overlook the rise of an entire species? And if you're younger, still, how did you never notice? Don't you think we have it under control?”

She stares at me hard. I match the intensity of her gaze. “What if I want a second opinion?”

“Who do you plan to ask?” When she's silent, I continue. “I know you're not happy with it, but realistically, there's nothing to be concerned about, and furthermore, nothing you can do.” She still doesn't trust me, and I have no idea how to convince her otherwise. Wolf is giving me a similar glare of distrust. I should have lied. I take a last stab at the subject. “If I didn't care, I wouldn't be educating you.”

“I still don't trust you,” White reiterates, and the look on Wolf's face still says the same.

“Who else are you going to trust? I'm your only option,” I point out in a biting tone. There's silence and tension you could cut with a knife.

“Fine,” she relents after several tortuous moments. “We'll wait. But only when I see it for myself will I believe you.”

“Of course,” I reassure. I don't get any verbal response from Wolf. I excuse myself to let them calm down and step outside.

Dark already, I note as I light up. There's few people roaming the streets. I let the smoke dull my nose and lean up against the pillar. The previous event definitely could have gone better.

I flick the butt into the gutter when I'm through and as I turn to head back in Wolf is coming out. I give him a raised brow. “I thought you wanted to take a look at the bar,” he explains, lighting up himself. I nod and follow him to the curb.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this one's short and I'm crap with keeping a schedule. I have a lot written, it's just a matter of moving files and unfucking the formatting my phone writer does. Same rules. Also, prepare yourselves, cuz the next chapter is going to have a whole lot of White Wolf terminology.
> 
> I own nothing you recognize.

"So...what happened?" I venture to ask as we hail a cab to the bar. "While I was gone."

"White and I agreed that we shouldn't start a panic until we know what's going on. You haven't given us a reason not to trust you."

"But I haven't given you a reason _to_ trust me either."

"Well, yes. I guess we've been thrown through a loop and we're panicking ourselves. We're going to try to be more rational about the whole thing."

I don't voice the "riiiight" that goes through my mind. The cab stops in front of a recessed staircase with a sign reading "Trip Trap" above it. Wolf and I exit the car and head in.

Right now, there's two patrons, a bulky lumberjack looking man and a one-armed man that gives off a first impression of being a sleaze. There's only five stools at the bar, and the way the two customers are seated, we have to sit between them. Wolf chooses to sit next to the burly man. I place myself between him and the weirdo. Wolf proceeds to order a Midas Gold and I opt to do the same.

"Who're you looking for this time, Bigby?" the woman behind the bar asks. 

"Have you seen anyone strange in here lately?" he asks blindly.

She nods at me. "Her."

"Jacoby," I introduce. "Besides me. Maybe a group of people that didn't buy anything and kept to themselves?"

"A few nights ago. They bought, but didn't drink. Damn waste," she scoffs under her breath. 

I glance around the establishment. The stink of Sabbat gnaws at my nose. They were here alright. "Did you overhear what they were talking about?"

"They said something about cammies. Not sure what a group of men would want with them," she shrugs, assuming that they were talking about the garment. I worry my bottom lip.

"Don't tell me there's been another murder," the man to my left growls, leaning past me to look at Wolf. He gives me a glare in the process and I observe the scar on his face and his white eye. Wolf doesn't answer.

"What did they look like?" I continue, ignoring the altercation. The man turns back to his drink.

"Unremarkable," the bartender replies. "You going to drink that?"

"I don't drink."

"Then why'd you order it?"

"I didn't say I didn't intend to pay for it." I push it in front of Wolf, who passes it on to the lumberjack. I place the money on the bar. "Look, if you see them again, call us," I implore. She gives me a hrmph that I'm not sure is in agreement or not. I let myself settle into the atmosphere. Wolf exchanges chit chat with the burly man while the man next to me doesn't show any interest. I keep my hands in my lap so that I stay out of his space.

I analyze the smell. There's three of them, all male. Two Brujah and a Gangrel. They're all green, but not Embraced yesterday. I grimace. I'm shit at combat, both firearm and melee. I prefer to rely on defense and intimidation tactics to avoid conflict.

The glass hitting the bar to my left nearly startles me. "Quit making that face, it'll get stuck that way," the one-armed man chides, clearly sliding further into a drunken stupor. I blink at him wide eyed. Like most of the men in this town, he's got more than a foot on me. He keeps looking at my neck out of the corner of his eye. I fix my hood so that the scar is hidden - not my bite scar, but the one that resembles a ligature mark. He's the first one to show obvious notice of it since I've been here, but in the state he's in I doubt he has a shred of decency. I match his gaze and try to stare him down.

"C'mon," Wolf beckons from my other side. He places money on the counter and I follow him out to wait for a cab. We both light up. "Did you get any leads?"

"There's three of them, male," I inform. "They're fledglings, but not _that_ young. They're probably not shock troops. I just don't know anything about why they're using this town as hunting grounds." He grunts in response. "I wouldn't be too alarmed - honestly, the smell was old, and most likely they've moved on already."

He seems to be itching to protest, but then remembers he's supposed to have a rational approach to the situation. "Alright," he states, but doesn't say a thing to me the rest of the night.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyy. I'm uploading from my phone. My laptop is fucky. I'm also having quite a bit of a sad episode. My phone doesn't want to copy paste, so looking up terminology is on you at the moment. My apologies. I will add definitions at a later date. I LIED I HAVE FIXED IT. I have only included some of Jacoby's own personal Disciplines, in order of required blood points. Also, you can now visit me on tumblr under the same name.
> 
> I own nothing you recognize.

It's the dead of night when I get home. There's a message on the machine. "Jacoby Corpore, please enter the car outside" is all the man in the recording says. I scowl; I was hardy, but wasn't so careless with my wellbeing to just get into cars with strangers. I part the blinds on the front window and notice a well-kept limo parked out front. I leave a message at the business office with its description in case I don't come back out.

I head down the stairs of the tenement building, passing the lumberjack man I'd seen not too long ago. He stumbles up past me with not even a greeting. I continue my way out and as soon as I am seated in the limo it takes off.

Seated across from me is a man that appears to be of middle eastern descent. Like the car, he's incredibly well groomed, but bears crows feet and eyebags. I look at him questioningly.

"Jacoby Corpore." I recognize his voice from the message. "I'm the Sheriff of New York City, Qadir al-Asmai," he introduces himself. I give a polite greeting. "It is my understanding that up until a few weeks ago you resided in Santa Monica, correct?" I nod. "And you had contact with Prince Sebastian LaCroix?"

"I did, yes, what is this about?" I press.

"Well, Miss Corpore, you are wanted for having a part in his murder." How blunt of you.

"What?" I bark. This was news to me.

"Didn't you? We found your prints."

"How? It was blown to smithereens!"

He peers up at me as I make a verbal misstep. "Well," al-Asmai simply states.

"It wasn't my idea. I wasn't the only one," I protest. If I couldn't deny it, I was not going to be the only one going down for it.

"I know. I'm willing to give you terms. As you know, the Camarilla and the Sabbat are in a bit of a war over the land in New York."

Oh.

"Once we were able to track you down, we discovered your residence to be in Fabletown. The town is technically a no combat zone, but in times of conflict that's not always upheld. I understand that the town has a Sheriff of their own so to speak, even using the same title. I do believe you know him?" I nod and state that he's my boss of sorts. "Yes, good. They are fables to us and we are myths to them. I intend to keep our relations this way.

"I know there's been a murder that pointed directly to us. The Kindred and Kine involved have been dealt with - eliminations, mind wipes. Having another Masquerade violation so severe in the middle of a massive battle for power is not something we can afford.

"You are a Ventrue, yes? Traditionally, we call on them to form a little, erm, patch squad for Masquerade violators. Your clan knows well how to deal with them - how's your Dominate? Your Presence? ...Impressive, very nice. As you can assume by now, I'll look past your misdoings if you agree to be our patch squad for Fabletown and its outlying areas. It's a small territory, no worries, but for the good of its citizens we want to keep it neutral. We do not need to be toe to toe with another race of beings.

"But I do warn you, Miss Corpore, that if you fail to protect these people, you will be punished and then executed for your crimes."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "A-alright," I agree shakily, still stuck on the fact that I'm wanted for murder. I glance out the tinted windows and almost wish I _could_ drink and drown my sorrows.

"Very well." He hands me a piece of paper. "This is a list of contacts you may need, and who may need you. We will also fit your apartment with a fax machine and put you in touch with a Nosferatu. Also, this." He hands me a long, skinny black bag. "It's a gun," he states as if I couldn't figure it out. "I don't approve of them, but I don't imagine you have any offensive Disciplines. We gave the fledgling you associated with the same treatment, and he mentioned that you preferred to keep your blood pool for other things. Crochan, I believe? So you're a Bron...." He pauses a moment. "Very well. Just remember, this position does not excuse you from violating the Masquerade yourself."

"Of course!" I exclaim. "But hunting. Outside the city?"

"Yes, for that matter, we don't have any information on how Kindred react to Fable blood." He falls quiet for a moment again. "If you manage to cultivate a consenting relationship with one, it would be interesting to know. Oh - you were embraced quite some time ago? Based on your previous question, I'm not sure, but do you need a supply of Elder blood?"

"It would be appreciated, yes. Usually I don't need it when I'm not using Disciplines, but in my age it's a wonder I haven't become dependent upon it."

"I will see to it. Very well, Miss Corpore." al-Asmai extends his hand and I shake it. From the look in his eyes I can tell the weight of the deal. The car pulls up in front of the tenement building and then I watch it pull off, hoping I never see it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ventrue - The Ventrue is one of the thirteen clans of Kindred in Vampire: The Masquerade. The Ventrue has long been one of the proudest lines of vampires. Its members work hard to maintain a reputation for honor, genteel behavior, and leadership. A sense of noblesse oblige has long pervaded the clan, accompanied by the genuine belief that the Ventrue know what's best for everyone. They not only consider themselves the oldest clan, but see themselves as the enforcers of tradition and the rightful leaders of Kindred society. They remain the largest supporters of the Camarilla and the Masquerade, believing both institutions to be the surest means of protecting vampires from the growing mortals masses, and of guarding their own power.
> 
> Disciplines - Discipline is the term used for one of the supernatural powers possessed by vampires. The origin of the Disciplines is unknown, but many believe they are gifts from Caine or Lilith, and a few Antediluvians are thought to have invented unique Disciplines that have been passed down through their childer. There are seventeen "main" Disciplines that are well known and relatively common, but there are also a variety of much rarer Disciplines which are unique to particular clans or are practiced by bloodlines and Thin-Blooded vampires.
> 
> Dominate - a Discipline that overwhelms another person's mind with the vampire's will, forcing victims to think or act according to the vampire's decree. (Command - Give a simple one-word order that a target must obey/Mesmerize - By holding a target with your gaze you can implant false thoughts or hypnotic suggestions in a target's mind/The Forgetful Mind - Rewrite the memories of a target/Conditioning - Over time make a target a slave to your will alone/Possession - Transfer your mind into a mortal body and control their actions/Oberon's Grail - Erase entire nights of a target's memory/Mass Manipulation - You can use Dominate on small groups at once)
> 
> Presence - the Discipline of supernatural allure and emotional manipulation which allows Kindred to attract, sway and control crowds.(Awe - Awe is very simple. Once the vampire employs this power, those who are near him or her want to be closer to him or her. It is an immediate and intense attraction, but not so overpowering that those afflicted lose their sense of self-preservation. Danger breaks the spell of fascination, as does leaving the area. Victims will remember how they felt, though, and this will affect their reactions should they ever encounter the vampire again. Awe is extremely useful in mass communication. It does not matter what is said - the hearts of those affected will lean towards the user's opinion. The weak want to agree with the vampire; the strong-willed soon find themselves outnumbered./Dread Gaze - This power engenders unbearable terror in its victims. Dread Gaze, like the legendary hypnotism of the cobra, stupefies the victim into madness, immobility or reckless flight. To use this power, the vampire merely shows the mark of Caine upon him or her - bearing claws and teeth, hissing loudly and with malice. Any vampire can do this, but students of this Discipline are more insanely terrifying than mere sight can explain./Entrancement - The Kindred makes someone obsessively want to please them./Summon - The Kindred compels someone to come to them immediately./Majesty - The Kindred appears as a figure of absolute power and authority./Two-Tiered Communication - Subliminally say different things to someone than what is heard publicly.)
> 
> Crochan - the unique Discipline of the Bron, a bloodline of the Ventrue. They claim its enhancements to their vampiric powers of healing come from the Holy Grail, but that they have been corrupted by their undead state, making them also able to use it as a weapon. (Swift Flows the Blood - the Bron is able to expend Vitae on healing much more quickly than normal/Blight of the Fisher King - makes a Kindred's wounds more difficult to heal/Bitter Humours - allows the Bron to corrupt another Kindred's efforts to heal wounds, worsening their wounds instead/Restoration of the Maimed - allows a Kindred to regrow lost limbs. It can also work on mortals, but the results are less favourable/Stolen Blood, Stolen Life - the Bron mystically steals Vitae or blood from a nearby target to heal her own wounds)
> 
> Elder - denotes the status of a vampire who has experienced at least 300 years of unlife.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My laptop is officially a piece of crap. Putting in the terminology for the last chapter took way longer than it should have. I apologize for the delay. Anyone who has not seen it can now go see it. Brujah are fighty pugnacious folk. Anywho, onwards.
> 
> I own nothing you recognize.

I spend hours I could have been sleeping debating on to what extent to tell Wolf and White about my meeting. I had to tell them that the killer had been taken care of and that they could relax. I had to tip toe around the fact that I was now a one man patch squad enforcing the Masquerade. I was supposed to wipe their minds of what I'd told them, but realistically, wasn't it a gray area? They'd given me an eye for an eye. And al-Asmai didn't mention anything about me having violated the Masquerade myself. It was all open to interpretation after all - feeding on blood was a violation, but how else was one to survive? He essentially approved of me having a blood doll relationship with one of the Fables. And obvious use of Disciplines - how else was I going to wipe their minds? Don't even get me started on the damn gun.

I lean back, kick my feet up on my desk and stare up at the water damaged ceiling. It gives me no answers. The people on the talk show drone on on the edge of my mind. I should have thought of this shit before I got out of the car. I grab the piece of paper and glace it over. Some are just names and titles, others with phone numbers and faxes. I toss it back onto the desk and look at the clock on the wall.

I decide to leave now and simply drag my feet on the way. I pass the one armed man on the stairs, who looks surprisingly well even though I would have bet money on the fact that he'd have one hell of a hangover.

"Jacoby, right?" he asks even though we're now at opposite ends of the staircase.

"Yeah, you're...?"

"Grendel," he replies, coming back down to formally shake my hand. I fumble a bit, not used to greeting southpaws. "You watch yourself around him," he warns, giving a minute nod toward where his right arm should be.

Thank Caine for my signature Discipline then. Ripping off my arm won't do shit - I could easily reattach it or regrow it all together. I could theoretically do it for him, but it generally didn't work favorably on mortals and I had no idea how it work on him. Besides, I needed to conserve my blood pool until I worked out a feeding situation.

I play the badass card and disguise showing off my scar as tilting my head. "I'll be fine," I reassure. He eyes me for a moment and I take it upon myself to head out the door. I arrive at the office and take up my designated spot on the floor.

"I see you made it back safe," Wolf comments, and I suddenly remember the message I'd left last night.

"Yeah."

"Am I allowed to ask what it was about?"

"The situation has been taken care of," I inform. "The fledgling has been put down."

"Good," he comments. "What about the three at the bar?"

Well, shit. "I'll take care of them."

"You personally?"

"Well, yeah. I'm a patch squad now. I'm in charge of keeping this territory neutral now. I just wish I had a less obnoxious weapon." Fuck being inconspicuous, future me could worry about it.

"What did you get?"

"Shotgun."

He reaches into the drawer of his desk and pulls out a handgun and a few magazines. "Don't be stupid with it," he impresses upon me.

"I'm not going to be stupid," I scoff, checking to make sure the safety was on and tucking it into the waistband of my pants. I slip the magazines into the pockets of my jacket. "Thanks."

"Just be careful," he orders again, and I roll my eyes skyward. He shoves some papers at me and I go about my usual routine.

I pop back into the bar that evening to ensure that the Sabbat smell is still stale. Today, the lumberjack man, who I've learned is referred to as Woody, is absent, but a man with long blonde hair is there instead. He gives me a curious glance and pauses in his process of throwing darts.

"Hello," he damn near purrs as I stand by the table the three must have sat at.

"Hello," I return, trying to show my disinterest in my tone of voice.

"I haven't seen you around here before," he persists.

"Jack, quit bothering the customers," the bartender scolds.

"Technically, she's not a customer," he points out.

"Midas gold," I state, walking up to the bar and laying down money. Holly places the drink on the bar. "Now will you leave me alone?" I growl, placing a hand on my hip and taking up a sassy stance.

"Well, you never _actually_ said I was bothering you," he continues to tease, and I can see the amusement in his eyes at the fact that a girl hardly five feet tall was trying to stare him down.

Without hesitation, I grab the drink and slosh it down his front. "Does that get the point across?" I ask, nearly slamming the now empty glass down. He flings the liquid off himself and gives me a "how dare you" look.

"Shut up," he barks at Grendel, who had been chuckling to himself. He stalks off to the restroom in an attempt to clean his clothes.

I frown at the puddle on the floor. "Got a mop?" I ask, looking apologetically at Holly. She fetches it from the back room and I clean the mess I've made. Jack returns, glances at me and Grendel, and leaves with his wounded pride. As the door swings open, the scent hits me like a freight train. Sabbat.

I lean the mop up against the bar and intend to leave - to drive them off or question them or something - but the door swings in on me and I'm knocked to the unforgiving ground. My head sings from the impact.

"Whoa there," the one in front comments. "Cammy..." he calls me under his breath. He extends his hand to help me up and I ignore it, getting to my feet on my own. He snorts at me and the three take up residence at the table they'd sat at previously. I return to the bar.

"That them?" I ask in a low voice, sitting down next to Grendel.

"Yeah," Holly confirms. "Why is it so important?"

I shake my head and give a half-assed attempt at avoiding the question. "No reason," I shrug, glancing at them over my shoulder. They weren't causing any trouble, so I supposed there was no need to be too terribly alarmed, but with the wayward habits of the Sabbat I had to be watchful. Besides, if I let members of the Sabbat swagger around town, then the Camarilla would start doing it, too, and they got along about as well as fire and gasoline and caused as much destruction. "Get them out," I more or less order. "Just, outside."

She notices my distrusting gaze. "Excuse me, those seats are for customers," she hollars. They look up and toward us, then what seems to be the leader makes eye contact with me.

"Of course," he replies. He stands and approaches the bar. I get a good look at him - long, greasy dark hair, a sallow grayish cast to his skin, well built, a scar cutting diagonally across his face. When he gives a polite smile, his teeth are crooked and yellow. I glance sideways at the other two - they're both equally tall and muscled, the Gangrel with long dangling hairy arms, dreadlocks, and his eyes red from a Beast Mark; the Brujah bald and dark-skinned, square-jawed, and with a permanent scowl. The leader places money on the bar and takes back the three drinks on his own.

They're quiet. They don't want to have any discussion with me in the room. We exchange glances for the longest time, and finally the Gangrel gets fed up.

"You got a problem with me?" He demands, standing and walking toward me with loud, heavy steps. I try to stare him down.

"Nope," I reply with nonchalance. "You were looking just as much, do you have a problem with me?"

"I'm fucking about to," he growls.

"Yeah? Then how about you, me, and your friends take it outside?"

"Caleb," the leader calls. The Gangrel curls his lips into a snarl at me, then stalks back to the table.

"What are you doing?" Grendel demands, losing his chummy atmosphere with me. I turn back around in my stool and lean over the bar.

"Don't worry about it," I reply.

"Don't start any trouble now," Holly warns.

"I won't be the one starting it." I don't give them any more sidelong looks, just keep my ears tuned for any hint of conversation. The four of us sit in a stalemate, waiting for the other to leave. They give up first. I wait ten minutes before getting up to go home myself.

"Wait," Grendel speaks up, catching my shoulder. "I'll go with you."

"I can handle myself," I protest, not keen on the possibility of running back into them with him in tow - another mind to worry about in the event of a full blown confrontation. He gives me a once over, gaze lingering on my scar for a moment, then lets me go.

Needless to say, I can smell them as soon as I walk out. I round the corner to the back of the building and find them all lined up in the alley.

"Oh, we were just about to leave, but now that you're here," the leader begins, cracking his knuckles.

"I don't want any trouble. I just want you to leave town," I try to reason.

"Leave town? But we were just settling in. There's some...choice cuts in this area."

Bitch better not be talking about Fables. "Sorry, boys, it's off limits," I shrug. "You can either get out or I can throw you out."

"You? Yeah, right," the other Brujah chuckles.

"You really ought to respect your Elders, neonate." I reach for the gun in my waistband, but he's quicker. Pain blossoms in the center of my forehead, blackness encroaches my vision. I'd forgotten how much this fucking hurts. They ignore the fact that my body doesn't turn to ash and stalk off, leaving me approaching a blackout in the alley.


End file.
